


A Four Star Thanksgiving and a Five Star Christmas

by rossetti



Category: Bandom, Panic At The Disco, The Like, The Young Veins
Genre: Futurefic, Kidfic, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-13
Updated: 2009-12-13
Packaged: 2017-10-04 10:13:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rossetti/pseuds/rossetti
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Oh, shit, Jon, I'm having a <i>baby</i>."</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Four Star Thanksgiving and a Five Star Christmas

**Author's Note:**

> Kidfic, futurefic, Christmasfic. Your heart might grow three sizes.

It takes Z four tries to tell Ryan she's pregnant.  
   
She made him soup. He's sick again, or maybe still, he can never tell the difference. She made him soup and she sat him down and Ryan thought maybe they were finally having something like a relationship conversation, what with the food and the formality.  She tells him as he's sipping a spoonful of broth. When he's done coughing his head feels clear for the first time in weeks.  
   
So, yeah. Z's pregnant. And she made him soup.   
   
"Am I the father?"   
   
"Would it matter?" She picks up the salt, starts to shake it into her soup then stops and looks at the shaker. She taps it against the bowl twice then sets it down. "Is sodium one of those things you're supposed to avoid?"  
   
"No."

"Oh, good," she picks up the shaker.

"I meant," he reaches out, cups his palm to catch the crystals before they hit the liquid. "I meant, 'No, it wouldn't matter.'" Z doesn't stop shaking salt into his hand. "Z?"

"Throw it over your shoulder." He does, blows on his palm to get the last pieces gone. "It should be yours. From that time," she shrugs, as if he should know, as if there were only one time something slipped or ripped.

"Want me to Google about the sodium?" he tries to remember where he left his phone.   
   
"No, thank you." When she leans forward to take a delicate sip of the soup her hair falls forward and covers her eyes. Ryan loves the fall of her hair, the precise line it cuts across her cheekbone. It's pure Z, scripted and effortless at the same time. 

"Thanks for the soup." She tucks her hair back behind her ear and kicks him lightly. "I see how it is. Tough love, right? What a great mother you'll be." He almost shivers at his words. It can't be real that she's going to be a mother because then he'll be a father and he has no clue what that means.

"We're not there yet." He bets she feels like he does. "Eat your soup."

"You will," he insists, cupping her cheek. She turns her head and kisses his hand at the odd curve where knuckle meets finger and he can't not kiss her back. He's leaning awkwardly over the table but the kiss is comfortable, reassuring. Nothing changes but everything's changed.   
   
For a few hours they're the only two people in the world who matter because they're creating something that isn't a lyric or a hook or feeling but is created the same way they've created all those other things together.

Ryan feels like he and Z are the only two people who exist. They're the only people who matter. The details and the worries don't matter yet, responsibility a vague notions on the horizon as they page through blogs devoted to baby fashions and jokingly suggest increasingly bizarre names.

They're near to jangling out of their skins when they agree to watch the sun set. Normally they'd do it and share a smoke, share a kiss, share a story.  

Z lights up a cigarette and they sit out on the deck. She takes one drag and hands it off to him. "That'll have to do me for a very long time," she sighs. "But now I'll at least remember my last cigarette."

He smokes slowly, watching her watch the sun, turning his head to blow the smoke away. There are things he should know and things he should ask, all different types, too many to pick, and things he'll need to learn.

They must be thinking along the same lines, since Z breaks the silence. "I know nothing about being pregnant. What if it's already pickled?" One hand drifts down, hovers but doesn't stop.   
   
Ryan leans forward enough to grab her hand. "Pickled?" He can't help but think of a fetus in a jar. He would like to never think of that again.

"We went out for martinis last week," she says slowly. "Which means I not only remember my last drink but have photographic evidence." They've pretty good pictures, Ryan thinks. She'd been wearing red, something that matched her lipstick, and a little hat, pinned into her hair. He'd tried helped her pin it, had pulled her hair too hard, stopping when she winced.

"You should teach me how to do hair stuff, in case it's a girl." He looks at their hands.

"What a great father you'll be," she cups his cheek and he shivers again but loves being at the opposite end of those words. He feels weighed and found promising as he looks into her eyes. He's never quite known what he's meant to her, still doesn't really know, but he knows that this could be the start to a real family. His family.

***

Ryan lights a cigarette before the call. He wants this one to go well, to overlay the ones that haven't. He fingers the loose joint he'd also tapped out of the pack, shorter than the cigarettes but far more tempting. If it doesn't go well, he's done for tonight. And he's prepared.

"You're having a baby?" Jon's voice is awed, full of all the emotion Alex's was void of. "Now? Like, it's already growing?"

"Well, I hope so," he makes a motion to go with the joke, over his own belly, thinking of the curve he doesn't associate with Z yet but will inevitably have to, he supposes, and soon. "Z doesn't look pregnant. But I saw the scan thingie. It looks like --" he tries to think of what it looks like, but comes up blank. It's a blobby X-ray, readable to those far more wise than he. It's everything and nothing. "Z went to the doctor."

"You're having a _baby_!" If Jon were here Ryan knows he'd be wrapped in a hug. "Are you in LA? I'll fly out. We need to celebrate. Wait until I tell my mom. Do you know if it's a boy or a girl?" Ryan didn't ask, thought if Z knew she'd tell him. Jon doesn't wait for a response. "I'm sure she can find a color, don't worry, she'll want to start knitting something now, but when you know she'll start something else."

Ryan stops his aimless drifting around the house as he listens to Jon talk. He stands still to stare out the window. Jon's response is helping the enthusiasm in his heart grow, the excitement he couldn't work up when it felt like he and Z were negotiating, the love and terror he dismissed when Alex brushed him off. He thinks of a changed Pete, of Ashlee and Bronx, of William's glib brush offs but proud smile. He's joining a club you can't fake your way into. He's having a baby.

"Ryan?"

"Oh, shit, Jon, I'm having a _baby_."

"Well, Z's having a baby." Jon's laughing, lisping over "Z's" like he always has, but Ryan's heart is beating out of his chest.

"Should I ask her to marry me?" Ryan's thought about it, couldn't not with the memory of carrying her the night of their fake marriage, the way they'd woven the story for passers-by and waiters, grinning at each other over the free champagne like they were the only two people in the world.

What they have is a complete lack of definitions, promises or conversations that would give Ryan a clue how to label what they have. They have late night conversations and lyrics and sex and vintage clothes and last minute trips and vinyl records and a thousand silly jokes and a baby on the horizon. There's a hard deadline for when that'll happen and Ryan would rather research baby clothing and accessories than parental rights.

"You could." Jon says it in the voice Ryan thinks of as important, the ambivalent, almost removed tone Jon gets when he's going to say something mean but important. "But there are other conversations you'll have to have either way."

"Yeah," he kicks the couch, knowing Jon's right but wishing he weren't.

"Ryan," Jon's voice is warm again, warm and happy. "You're great at living up to what life demands of you. Don't worry. Think of all the music you'll get to introduce him or her to!" He laughs with Jon, lets Jon distract him.

"You're a good friend," Ryan tells Jon softly, five minutes into a conversation on which Dylan albums might be appropriate before a child starts speaking.

"You know I'm here for you," Jon replies just as softly. Ryan covers his eyes for a moment, unable to name the feelings flying through him.

They stay on the phone for another hour, debating the most important songs and albums to introduce to a new human, and at what age. Ryan's calm when he hangs up the phone. Calm and determined.

***

He wishes there weren't a table between them, wishes he'd brought this up when they were curled up together with soft hands and voices. He at least wishes they weren't facing each other, that he'd never seen her look pitying as she refused to marry him. "I rather like my life," Z elaborates, a shade of Tennessee in her tone. She gets vaguely British and formal when she's upset. "I have no desire to rush on to anything else."

Ryan thinks it's bullshit. He thinks there's no way Z's going to have a baby and not have her life change, and especially not just 'cause she _doesn't want it to_. "But you're," he waves at her, "making a baby!"

She widens her eyes at him with a feigned vague look he recognizes from when she's doing interviews or fucking with people. Or both. "Do you think I can't be a musician and a mother." It isn't a question. It makes him feel like a douche. "Or you think I have to be a wife to be a mother?" She spits wife out like it's a curse.

None of that is what he means, and he hates this, hates that he just wants her to admit this is going to change both their lives and they're never going to be the same. Their lives can't be the same because they'll be parents and being a parent is something fundamentally different than being a non-parent. "That's not what I'm saying."

She's slim and smart and snarky and determined and mean and honest and he loves her or maybe he sees himself in her and she's never seemed bothered if he doesn't know which is which.

But she's shaking her head at him now. "I'm not marrying you just because we're having a baby. We're not Kurt and Courtney or fucking Frankie and Annette or something, OK?"

He feels something vicious twist inside, something angrier and more bitter than he's been since _the_ conversation with Spencer. He can't emulate her indifference, he cares too much and he's shown he cares too much. "Well as far as I'm aware Kathleen Hanna never had a baby or got famous. But she didn't have parents in the industry, either, so you were never going to be her anyway."

Z glares at him like he's betrayed her, and maybe he has, referencing late night conversations whispered under sheets, the times she was willing to acknowledge the pecking order of the music industry. "I'm not marrying you Ryan Ross, and that's final." She pauses, and he's terrified for one moment that this is it, this is all he gets, that she'll be like either or both of his parents, able to draw a line in the sand and never look back. "We don't have to make a vow to each other to do this. Stop asking, OK? It's off the table." She straightens, pulling back. He does the same.

He's suddenly aware of his body again, that his breathing is shallow and he's shaking. "Goddamnit, Z," he says softly. He hates it when his body gives him away.

"I'm sorry, honey." She sips her tea, looking over his shoulder. She's giving him time.

He can't bring himself to ask anything else. _Were we ever going to be anything more?_ wars with _Were we even dating?_ and he's pretty sure he doesn't want an answer to either. He'd say he doesn't want anything more from her but that's not true. He can't walk away and he hates himself and her and the universe. It's only when he thinks that he hates their child that the hates collapses in his chest. He couldn't ever hate their child.

"I'm sorry, too." He means it but it's hard to say it. "Where do we go from here?"

She grins at him, a sly grin he responds to involuntarily. "This isn't where we intended to be?" He snorts.

"We had it all." He intones solemnly, remembering the night she'd tried to teach him to waltz, Eva and Che frozen on the screen as he tripped his way through a dance. "You believed in me."

"Nothing has changed." She says it lightly, with a smile, and he almost believes her.

***

He tells Spencer and Brendon and Pete the day he meets Z for lunch and she looks pregnant, not much but noticeable if you're looking, if you know her. They don't ask the questions he was afraid of, the ones he can't answer. Their sincere congratulations leave him grinning at the floor as he rubs his neck, wishing he'd done this differently, wishing he'd called them up for drinks and announced it in a grand style.

It isn't a movie montage. There are days he forgets she's pregnant, days where he wishes she weren't, days where they're in the same city, days where they're not. There's the same amount of her stuff at his house, the same amount of his at hers. He doesn't go with her to the doctor. She writes lyrics about being pregnant, happy ones and anguished ones, depending on the day. He doesn't write at all.

They shop a lot. She spends more time cooking, feeding him and Alex and James and Tennessee and Runion and Eric and Laena and Jason and Annie and Chad and anyone who's willing to come over for dinner. "I think she's nesting," he confides to Alex one night, as they share a joint in the backyard.

"You think?" Alex drawls back and they go back into the house laughing. When people pile into the house and eat and drink and jam it feels like more than it was before, the same people but the intensity notched up. Z's at the center of it all, effortlessly, spinning the stories of her visits to the doctor and her cravings, pleading playfully that they drink the wine out of her sight. She's radiant.

Alex ropes Ryan into driving him around town, on a mad apartment hunting spree. It takes Ryan two apartments to realize they're looking for Alex, not a friend. Ryan's glad Alex isn't taking him up on the open invitation to stay at his house, the one he issued when Alex first started making noises about maybe, possibly relocating home base from New York to LA, for real. He doesn't know how he'd fit anything more into his life right now.

Jon quietly cancels the tour he and Ryan had half-planned. Ryan calls one night to thank him, the next night to vent at the unfairness. They'd promised so many fans they'd be back, the fans who'd come to see them for who they used to be and the fans who'd been drawn in by the album. Ryan can already feel a backlash, barbs about more broken promises.

"We'll give 'em another album if we can't give 'em another tour," Jon says. "Don't worry. Ryan, you don't owe them every moment of your life." Ryan imagines the shrug that goes with it, shrugs in response. Another situation out of his control, another path in the woods.

Ryan remembers feeling alone with the expectations of the world after Jon pulled back from him, when it became clear their transition wouldn't be easy. Jon had re-immersed himself in his world and family in Chicago, gladly emerging to visit Ryan in LA but then always disappearing home.

Neither of them had lost faith in each other or faith in the music, Ryan's sure of that, but he'd been unsure if Jon would really care about touring again. He should have known better, had more faith in Jon. The first venue, the first night, Jon had stopped and asked the audience if they wanted something special, if they could give him five minutes and crowd in close to hear. Ryan had waited onstage for an agonizing moment, trying to talk with the audience, until Jon had reappeared with their favorite, beaten up acoustic guitars. They'd started a tradition, playing Heart of Mine to each other, sitting at the edge of the stage.

After Jon cancels the tour Ryan gets a call from James Montgomery. Ryan agrees to an interview on why the album was postponed and the tour cancelled if James gives him a day to prepare. Z doesn't care about interviews, not in the way Ryan does, not remotely in the way Ryan used to. She doesn't care but he's unwilling to tell the world without talking about it with her. This is what it means to be part of what they're doing, he thinks.

She'd done her own confirmations, before it became undeniable, the same week she'd cried over not being able to wear any of her favorite dresses. She'd twittered sonogram pictures and posted a rough JJAMZ version of Rock Me Baby, her voice and Alex's blending together, sexy and soothing. She'd never said a word about him.

Ryan figures his time to shine will come later, when this is less about what's happening in Z's body and more about a tiny, new little human, but as Z spins stories and songs and seems more centered and certain each week he grows frustrated with losing his own voice.

As if he knows, Jon flies out. They take James's call together. Jon takes the questions Ryan doesn't want to answer and then they spend two weeks alternating between locking themselves in a room with guitars and notebooks and taking long walks at any hour of the day. Jon takes the fragments of things they'd never finished, takes the scraps Ryan can give him, takes the things Ryan hasn't said to anyone else and they build songs. Or they walk and talk about families, about the things Ryan wants to be able to give and is afraid he won't be able to. At some point then they stop trying to build songs and they start trying to write lullabies.

"These are terrible," Ryan laughs at them, at the tambourine-and-bass monstrosity they've constructed.

"These are _wonderful_," Jon contradicts him, "any kid would love them."

"They are very interactive," he agrees, shaking a tambourine.

"Thinking like a baby daddy already," Jon's grin is infectious. Ryan can't believe how easy this all seems, when he looks at himself through Jon's eyes. It's difficult to put Jon back on the plane to Chicago but Ryan can and does, since he gets to keep the songs and Jon's hope and the way Jon had taken his hand when James had asked how he planned to balance being a father and a musician.

***

They name her Georgiana Ross Berg. Agreeing on a name had been easy and then he and Z'd kept it between the two of them, a precious secret for just them until after she was born. And then she's theirs and she's everyone's and she's _his_ and he's unbearably in love with her unfocused eyes and her tiny hands and everything about her, absolutely everything. He loses a few months, wrapped up in every baby moment. It's like nothing he's ever done and he loves it.

***

Ryan forgets to switch his phone back to silent so when Jon calls he wakes her. Ryan bangs his head on the wall twice and curses the phone in his pocket and his tendency to hover and watch her sleep before he picks her back up. They walk up and down the hallway, Georgie fussing and Ryan letting her, telling her yes, yes, he knows, he's sorry, she's allowed to chew at his tie. She might think she's hungry but she did just eat and she'll eat again soon so now she should sleep. She settles quickly, forgetting and forgiving his mistake.

"Hey," he calls Jon back after she's down, after he's brushed her hair off her forehead and listened to her breathe and pulled the blanket up.

"Did I call at a bad time?" Jon tends to call at terrible times, it's a running joke.

"Yeah but it was my fault. I left my ringer on again." He's on his own tonight, he'd thought he should leave it on in case of an emergency.

"How're you doing?" Jon starts most conversations asking how he's doing, not how Z or G are doing. He presses Ryan for an honest answer, too.

"We're good," he collapses onto the sofa. "Tired but good." This tiredness is different from his old sick-tiredness or insomnia tiredness. When he sleeps he feels like he's done something.

"Yeah?"

Jon's been amazing about checking in and listening and supporting. He's already heard Ryan's sadness at none of this being what he'd thought it would be, heard Ryan's worry about Georgiana splitting time between two houses. He's visited twice, learned more children's songs than Ryan knew existed. He's listened to Ryan blathering and waved at Georgie over iChat, introducing Clover by lifting her to the camera. Ryan doesn't know how he got lucky enough to have this, all of it.

"Yeah, Jon. We're good."

"Good!" Ryan smiles at his ceiling. "Now, I take it you three won't be making it to this year's Halloween party?" They'd planned ahead last year, bought their tickets before Jon had decided to have a party, neatly forcing Jon into having one.

"Probably not." Ryan hasn't been to a proper party in a while.

"Well, since we shouldn't break such a great tradition I was thinking I'd bring the party to LA." Jon sounds like he won't take no for an answer, like he has it all planned out. He probably does.

"Hmm," Ryan thinks about it. "If you do the decorating, djing and catering it's a deal."

"Done!" Jon agrees and Ryan realizes he didn't mention the cleanup. Damn. "It's her first Halloween! We have to do something good."

"She won't remember it," is always his argument, but he secretly agrees. Z and G'd barely gotten home from the hospital for the fourth of July but they'd all curled up together in Z's bed and watched fireworks on four channels. It hadn't felt like enough.

They don't go too overboard, he doesn't think. It's just a party where he invites everyone he knows on the West Coast and Jon rounds up half of Chicago. Sure, they'd hired a babysitter to watch over a designated nursery room and Alex convinced them a week before the party that they need a stage, but these things happen.

It's warm enough to have an outdoor party but brisk in a way Ryan only associates with Los Angeles in October. "Where are the heat lamps?" Jon asks him, rubbing his hands together.

"You were in charge of decorating," Ryan reminds him. Z's backyard's been transformed into a black, purple and orange wonderland. There are piles of leaves Ryan thinks Jon might've brought with him from Chicago, wholesome hay bushels and barrels full of apples competing with a full bar, all right next to a table full of sippy cups and cookies and juice.

"When did everyone we know have kids?" he wonders. He doesn't think he had this many friends with kids, or even considering having kids, before he had one. It's like magic.

"Here," Jon pulls something out of his pocket, walks over to where Ryan's holding Georgie up to inspect the proceedings. It's another home knit hat, orange and black, and Jon slips it on gently, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

"Thank you," he whispers. Jon hasn't stepped back, has one hand spread over Ryan's on Georgie's back. They're not in costume yet, Ryan doesn't even have a jacket on. He's grateful for the warmth.

"My pleasure," Jon's a half-step higher than he is, evening out their height. Ryan's used to feeling thin, has learned to even out his knobby knees and shoulders and elbows through clothing and confidence. He's not used to being aware of Jon's breadth, the way his shirt pulls tight around his biceps. Ryan doesn't think of Jon as any more physically intimidating than he is but right now it feels like Jon's everywhere.

A squeal of feedback breaks the moment, Jon stepping back as G's face crumples. "I'd better get her inside and get changed," he says, turning.

"I'll check the stage." Jon waves as they walk away. Georgie waves back.

He and Z are agreed in thinking Georgie won't stay in her full pumpkin costume for long so her orange onesie has a carved pumpkin face printed on it. Z shows up just as he's trying to figure out if he should dress himself or her first. They gather in her room and prepare together, taking turns dressing and singing to G.

"You still clean up well," Z says after he's done.

"No spit up?" he spreads his arms, the stiff tailored coat pulling against his shoulders. Z takes the opportunity to hand G off.

He hums It's Almost Halloween as he watches Z slide on thigh highs and a slip. It's not for him, not a tease, but it is intimate to be able to see her in this moment. He wonders if they'll ever have sex again, if doing so would ruin the easy give and take they've established. He wants her, he isn't dead. But he doesn't need her.

Alex knocks as they're finishing up, entering without a pause. "Vell Vell Vell!" he cackles. "Vat tasty morsels be here. I vill drink all your blood."

"You'll drink a baby's blood?" Z turns from the mirror, one hand on her wig, a bobby pin sticking out of her mouth. "Is that how you look so young?"

Ryan fades out on the rest of the exchange, focusing on giving Georgiana her bottle. He doesn't miss how Alex has eyes only for Z. Ryan's never noticed it before but he's never been trapped alone in a room with them flirting before either. He can't help but think that Alex might get to take off the outfit Ryan watched Z put on. It makes sense, somehow.

Another knock, some shouts from outside and it's clear the party is starting and their presence is required. He gives G to Alex to burp as he heads outside.

When Alex had demanded a stage and sound system Ryan had thought he would perform, or JJAMZ, someone familiar, something in-house. Ryan spies something familiar, but not someone.

"Jon?" he calls, looking around. There are already quite a few people milling around, a good portion of them child-sized princesses and fairies and ghosts and cowboys and mutant turtles. It's definitely unlike any party Ryan's attended before.

And it's not like Ryan hasn't spoken to Spencer, hadn't emailed him an invitation even, but he certainly didn't expect to see him standing in the middle of Z's backyard dressed as a vintage-styled clown.

Ryan sees Z and Alex round the corner, Marie Antoinette on Dracula's arm, carrying a bright orange baby-pumpkin, but it's not until Brendon appears and jogs down the stairs, jumping off the last one like he's still fifteen, that he suspects he's been set up in some way.

Brendon lands next to Spencer and bows to Ryan. "Monsieur Ross, the world famous Discos Ate My Panic are ready to perform for these otherworldly children," he bows again, grinning at Ryan like this is the best fun he's ever had. "At your word, my liege."

Ryan remembers he's dressed like a king. He nods and gestures to decked out stage, almost a museum of Panic props and sets. "Gentlemen, the stage is yours." Brendon high-fives him on his way past and Spencer stops to wiggle his fingers at Georgie.

Jon finds him twenty minutes into their set. Brendon's on guitar, singing Itsy Bitsy Spider. Spencer's abandoned the drums to sit at the edge of the stage and demonstrate the hand motions for the kids gathered round.

"Something tells me you put this together," he nudges Jon's shoulder.

Jon shrugs. "It was time." He sticks his hands in his pockets, ruining the line of his tuxedo but looking instantly more like the Jon Ryan knows best.

Ryan's had time to see Bronx run through the crowd, frosting on his face, time to catch Tom taking photos. He's finally met Zack's son and he's watched half of Tennesse's yoga class descend on Eric. He's never thrown a party like this, he doesn't think he could've on his own.

"Where's Cassie?"

Jon shrugs again, but his shoulders are stiffer. "She wasn't able to make it."

"I'm sorry." He puts an arm around Jon's shoulders. "Thank you for this. I hope you're having a good time."

"I am now." Jon turns and gives him a real hug. Ryan hugs him back, closing his eyes for a moment. Some days he doesn't know what he would have done without Jon.

"You're a truly great friend," he says as they start to pull back.

Jon smiles at him, happiness crinkling his eyes. "C'mon, let's get closer to the stage. He's going to close with the song that never ends."

***

November means it's too cold to swim outside. Z calls someone who pulls some strings and the next thing he knows they're driving to a gated, heated pool to continue Ms. Georgiana's transformation into a water baby.

Ryan notices a small hickey on Z's shoulder as she claims Thanksgiving. "You can come if you want." Z says it calmly as she steps into the water. "You know how important Thanksgiving is in my family."

He does. He'd been the orphan at their big, family Thanksgiving last year, before she knew she was pregnant. "No, but thanks."

"Are you sure?" she wades over to where he's got his feet in the shallow end and takes his hand. He wishes he could feel angry at her but he can't. She might not want him but she doesn't want him to be alone.

"Jon and I have been looking for time to write, this is a blessing in disguise," he lies easily, looking around the room. As far as Ryan can tell every holiday is a big Walker holiday - Thanksgiving and Christmas and Halloween and Easter and St. Patrick's Day - but Jon will back him up. Probably invite him up, too.

"Chicago for Thanksgiving will be nice." She squeezes his hand and smiles like she knows something he doesn't.

"Yeah." He hands G off and watches them swim, Z drifting on her back under G. "Actually," he says slowly. "I'd like to take her up for Christmas."

"We'll have to get her some warmer clothes," she replies and Ryan remembers, yeah. It is this easy. They are making this work.

Ryan doesn't go to Chicago, he goes to Las Vegas. It takes one call to arrange and one hour to book himself a seat on the flight Spencer's on. He's nervous when he arrives at the airport, missing the feeling of Georgie in his arms, afraid of starting something he can't finish.

He meets Spencer in a sports bar just past security. He catches a glimpse of them in the bar mirror as they're paying their tab, Ryan in his jacket and tie next to Spencer in a t-shirt and hoodie, and it hits him that this is all some childhood friends ever get: an occasional drink and a brief peek inside a completely different life.

"We were really lucky," he says after he's tucked his credit card away. Spencer's eyebrows go up but he doesn't say anything, even as Ryan darts in and hugs him. "Thanks, Spence," he whispers. When he pulls back Spencer's blushing the same as if you'd asked him about sex when he was 16.

Spencer's mom and dad don't treat him like he hasn't seen them in years. Ginger makes the best mac'n'cheese Ryan's ever had. When he asks for the recipe, thinking of Georgie, she hugs him. He's polite to Crystal's boyfriend. He texts Z and Alex and Jon under the table. When Z sends him a picture of Georgie wearing a bib with a cartoon Turkey on it, distinct smears of orange and red in her hair, he shares it around the table.

It's the best Thanksgiving he can remember.

***

"We're canceling my flight back to LA," he informs Jon when he gets to baggage claim. "I'm never flying alone with a baby again."Jon raises an eyebrow as he looks at Georgie, asleep against his shoulder. Ryan scowls back. "She looks sweet now, sure, but don't let appearances deceive you."

"I'll be careful," Jon takes the baby bag and car seat from him, leans in close to kiss Georgie's cheek. "C'mon, let's get you home."

Somewhere between the airport and Jon's house they stop for hot chocolate. Jon runs in while Ryan crawls into the back seat to check on her. She'd woken up and started fussing but Ryan thinks they can get there without needing to change her diaper in the backseat of Jon's father's car or in a public bathroom.

The temperature in the car drops while Jon's inside. Ryan remembers the bitter cold snowfall two years ago, the way he'd worn his clothes and Jon's and had still been cold.

Ryan stays in the backseat when Jon gets back in, waves off his apology for not leaving the heat on. He drinks half his cocoa and nods off to sleep listening to Jon sing along to Bing Crosby.

"Ryan, we're here," Jon wakes him up with a whisper and a finger on his cheek. He looks around, shaking off the cat nap. He's always impressed by the amount of land around Jon's house and dusted in snow it looks even more idyllic and unreal. "I took all the bags in, we just have to get you and Ms. G inside."

The house is warm and smells like baking, like spices and apples and family. It's hasn't been a full day but when Jon says he'll take care of Georgie if he wants to nap Ryan can only nod and yawn.

When he wakes it's dark outside and the house feels full. He texts Z that they've made it safe and she can stop worrying and he wishes them all a happy Christmas Eve. He thinks she must've been waiting for an update when he gets an instant response reminding him to get vids if G starts to crawl.

He pads downstairs in mismatched Christmas socks and gets hugs from Jon's entire family, the people he knows and the people he doesn't. Jon saves him, arriving with G dressed in something Ryan's sure he didn't pack. "She looks like a candy cane," he whispers as he plucks her out of Jon's arms.

"She's a sugary treat," Jon coos, and Ryan notices he's in a Christmas sweater and has an antler headband.

_How are you so ridiculous?_ Ryan wonders, but instead of bafflement or scorn he feels affection. Jon still mostly lives with his parents and he has retired-person hobbies. He loves the Beatles and Dylan more than Ryan's ever been able to love any one band and he doesn't care what anyone thinks. He's giving and daring and gullible and he keeps proving time and again that he doesn't just love Ryan but he loves everything about him, even his fuckups and especially his daughter. Ryan looks up, blinking away something that must've gotten in his eye.

"Jon," he slides one hand around to cup the back of Jon's neck. "Jon, look up."

Ryan can't believe people actually still hang mistletoe but he supposes if anyone would it's the Walkers. Jon tastes like eggnog and peppermint. He presses light fingers into Ryan's jaw as if he's asking if Ryan really means it and Ryan keeps telling him yes, yes, yes until Georgiana kicks them both and tries to stick her fingers up Jon's nose.


End file.
